


Went Down to the Crossroads

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Atrocious Southern Accents, Backstory, Brothers, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: Martin's from a family of monsters. You trace them back, you get nothing but thieves and hustlers and murderers. That's just what they do. Really, it was only a matter of time before something supernatural showed up in the blood. Hell, you ask around in some bars down south, something supernatural already did. Not sure whether the Devil married in or was always there, but he sure is close anyways.





	Went Down to the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/gifts).



> This is one of those headcanons you will prise out of my cold dead fingers. Also, a thousand apologies about the accents.

Martin's from a family of monsters. You trace them back, you get nothing but thieves and hustlers and murderers. That's just what they do. Really, it was only a matter of time before something supernatural showed up in the blood. Hell, you ask around in some bars down south, something supernatural already did. Not sure whether the Devil married in or was always there, but he sure is close anyways.

His parents aren’t all that inspired, as the family traditions go. They steal some, they kill some, but never all that committed to it. Martin grows up in motels and the back of whatever car they've hotwired this week, shoving his kid brother down whenever the cops' flashlights get too close. 

It doesn’t take him long to realise their parents ain’t any better than two-bit criminals. They can say 'Bonnie and Clyde' however much they like, or Jesse James, or even fucking Robin Hood. Nobody cares but them. Martin runs with them for two reasons: too young to get by unnoticed; too old not to know what'll happen to his brother if he skedaddles. Folks only care about Martin so long as he’s small; Ozzie can smile and the officers all smile back. 

The learning’s shit on the road, but that don’t matter. Martin’s smart, everyone says so, learning cards and tricks and which fights ain’t worth the pains. Half the time he’s the one bringing the money in for the motels or scumbags wanting paying – not that the folks ever thank him, just beat him round the head for not getting enough. 

Ozzie though, he’s _clever_. Damn shame he’s stuck in this family. More brains than the whole tree, all fighting to get out and figure the way the world works. Martin doesn’t care when he finds him trying to figure out the cat from down the hall. Damn thing howls all the night, which makes their ma cranky, which makes their daddy look for somewhere to hide the bruises. Besides, family is family, and Ozzie smiling is the most important thing.

Ozzie is the one to find the meals. Their parents barely notice, throwing cheeseburgers to the backseat, pa saying that when he was their age he would've begged for just one so ain’t they just the lucky ones. Martin gives most of it to Ozzie, who’d eat the world given half a chance. Him, though, he's always needed something more. Something you can’t get at a fast food joint or gas station – at least, not until the first night Ozzie talks some girl out the back door and tells Martin to have his fill.

You can’t eat the folks. They'll notice – they already have enough stories, about being drunk and blue lights and always tired. Martin knows tired’s no good to them. 

He used to eat Ozzie at night, bathroom door bolted and only seeing the whites of his teeth shining blue, and it didn't seem to bother him all that much, but Martin felt the wrongness of it. He doesn’t like thinking of his brother as food. Food’s like prey, the antelopes and rabbits on the TV with the sound off – food’s _stupid_.

It hurts the people, but they get good at finding the ones where nobody’ll ask too many questions, and Martin never lets himself take too much. He never lets himself get hungry enough for that. But he’s hungry enough to let Ozzie talk him into how eating comes first.

He still doesn't know what happened – or, no, he knows exactly what happened, _Ozzie_ happened. He just doesn't know _how_. Maybe he let his guard down; maybe he trusted too much: let 'family' be something you were told, not something you felt. He'd spot it coming from them now, but then, his family now wouldn't do it to begin with. There's no point even asking.

Fourteen years old, looking sixteen at least even before he tried, he gets hungry. _Real_ hungry. He’ll twist in his sheets and sit numb in the car, never getting enough, Ozzie snatching him away from meals 'cause of cops or saying they had to stay in the room and barely letting Martin have a bite, until the world ain’t nothing but the hunger. People don't realise how him and his boys need to feed, like the world wants nothing more than to drain all those brains just a little. They're human but that doesn't stop them being hungry. It's just about the most human thing about them, he figures.

Sharing a room 'cause the cops were looking for them, something about ‘malnourishment’ from some K-Mart student actually paying attention for once. Folks know something’s up with him but he couldn't hear what they were saying. Ozzie’s talking for him, and he just lets himself drift down.

In the night, he remembers the low yellow streaks from the streetlights bleeding through the paper-thin curtains onto the walls, flashing into bright blue and white flooding the whole room. He never said goodbye, but that's not what bothers him. Given the choice, he wouldn't have been able to string that much together, and it’d’ve all been lies anyway.

What he cares about is when the world swam back into focus and seeing Ozzie by the window, just watching the whole thing. When Martin looked at him, and he just giggled.

"The fuck did you do, Oz?"

"You're the one who couldn't stop himself," Oz drawls, curling forwards in those pyjamas with a fucking pink pony on them. Martin never did find out where those came from. "Bet you feel much better though, right?"

He does, goddammit, they both know that. First real feeding, more’n he'd had since they were little. Oz started telling him it hurt so he stopped; figured maybe it was different for little kids. Now he ain't so sure. Seems like Ozzie's the one in charge, somehow.

Brain moving faster than ever. "We need parents to look normal."

"Why?" Peering at Ma and Pa, tucked in together in the bed. "You look more'n old enough, Marty. Don't you wanna call the shots rather'n trailing around after these two morons?"

Nothing Martin could object to about the folks. They were both dumber than shit – made for each other, really. "Don't call me Marty."

Living rough ain’t as hard as it should've been. Oz knows just what to say, just where to step, and he'll watch Martin fighting his way where talking don’t work. He’s eating more’n ever but never gets fat. Martin figures it’s just 'cause Oz’s growing. Fuck knows he'd eat all he wanted and never put anything on; even when he’s hungry, it ain’t the same kind of thin.

Martin gets these angers, more and more. The emotions he eats, maybe, 'cause he feels all of them. Ozzie talks him down, or points him in the right direction. Remembering the dead folks, Martin tries to keep the words where he can find them again. Ozzie's clever but Martin’s smart and he ain't a caged animal. Ozzie sees him snarl and snarls right back, just with less teeth and a curve to his lips.

Takes Martin a while to get the hang of all the smells. Some are easy: cops, fast food, easy eating. The leather and guns one night when they're sleeping in an old cinema, he doesn't know them but he can taste men ready to fight. He shoves Ozzie out the back.

"You don't wanna be caught, do you?"

Oz hesitates on the fire escape, and Martin'll never know why.

They catch him 'round the chest and the neck. He roars and writhes, and lets the monster out. They taste funny, scared but something else inside them. They're screaming but that doesn't stop them frying him in the back; gagging him while he's down and calling him a mutt.

The man in the place with the white lights doesn't call him a mutt. He talks polite and matter of fact and Martin knows a boss when he sees one. Apparently they've had their eye on him for a while, not that Martin sees any proof of it. Figures it's one of those mindfucks they always pull on the TV, the kind Ozzie scoffs at 'cause there's no way they could've worked it out with what they had. "Looking at the script's cheating," he'd say, or else he'd work out a different solution and show how it fitted the clues better than the real ending. Always more than one way to look at things. 

When they lock Martin up, he sits in the dark and thinks how Ozzie'd talk his way out of this, till he thinks he can see those white teeth gleaming in the shadows with him.

He gets hungry. He eats, then he gets beat. They drag in folks shivering from the prison and Martin eats the guards and gets shocked for it. He can't work out if they're stupid or they think he's some dog for turning tricks.

There's a smell creeping down the hallways and it makes him howl, salivating, clawing at the walls. He doesn't know what it is but it calls to him, says how he needs to be together. Funny how he didn't know he was missing anything before that hole opens up inside him, and now it's all he can do to get through another minute with those claws digging into his insides. From the hands slamming against his door a second later, he ain't the only one getting the shakes.

Cross and him snap at each other, all that smartness in Martin's brain shoved back into something feral but happier than he's known. As they circle each other, he can smell all those agents gathered 'round, stinking of anticipation and men looking to make money. Most of that runs scared with their bodies when the two of them go for the jugular – metaphorically speaking.

Gripps shows up just a few weeks later. This time Martin and Cross are let loose in some sort of goddamn maze and they don't even think about it, not taking one wrong turning as they home in. Gripps is strapped in tight and they tear him free, and it's all so much brighter than ever. The Boss says he's happy they found each other and Martin just laughs 'cause really, he wants them to be grateful but they'd’ve found each other eventually, right?

“Pack is one,” Cross says excitedly as he bounces between them. They don't get much sense of where he's come from but they don't care all that much. He's here now. He's here with all that energy spilling out, and he doesn't need reason with Martin and Gripps here – Gripps who does talk about his past just the once, 'cause he thinks it might be important. Sold out by some woman his folks married him off to, thinking to escape the loony bin.

"I ate my folks."

"That sounds real smart," Cross tells him.

Gripps, though – Gripps looks at him all odd-like. Martin bristles more on principle than anything else, even though he knows whatever Gripps thinks is way more important than anything else. "Someone made you do it."

Martin hisses in air through his teeth – white teeth. "We're all monsters in my family."

Cross whoops at the ceiling. "All monsters, baby!"

"How many brothers and sisters and cousins and second cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents and great-aunts and great-uncles?"

"Just the one brother," Martin says, holding up a finger. "No surprises there," he adds, looking towards the mirror that watches them all the time. They've prodded him about Ozzie but he's never said a word. He just hopes the kid's running free somewhere. Maybe he made it to some fancy school, or maybe he's still charming his way across the country as he figures out how it all works. Since he met the boys, he ain’t given his kid brother all that much thought – not much, that is, except thinking how this is how it's supposed to be. Like Oz was never really part of him. The boys, they're him and he's them. Simple as that.

He's never sure why the guards laugh at him sometimes, right up until they catch him looking. Doesn't seem like there's anything funny about the three of them tucked together in the same room. Gripps says this is Black Book and reels off all the details they could ever want – that's what comes of getting sold out while you're under the same roof, you get _details_ , and there's nothing Gripps likes more than detail. So often, it feels like they're the one mind: one for details, one for concepts, and one to do the talking. 

Martin doesn't quite know why the good Major Riggins is so keen on talking, for all the good it ever does him.

"You were one person when you came here," Riggins says, "why are you now saying you're not?"

"I'm always one person," Martin tells him, "'cause we were always all out there. 'S'like blood, you can't wipe it out."

Riggins straightens up the papers on his desk. That's him, always straightening, always keeping control of himself like that'll reach out to the others in here. Now Gripps and Cross have pointed it out – logic and senses – Martin can smell it too. At first there weren't many, but now these hallways are filling with freaks. Just the other day they walked a small boy past the cell, smelling of broken homes, and the emotions were so thick all of them howled just to feel the fear thickening through the cracks in their cages.

"What about your brother?" Riggins asks, and Martin stays lounging in his chair, but his body goes still. "Do you still feel a connection there?"

"Maybe," Martin says slowly.

Riggins is too focused on him – more like he's trying hard not to look at something else. He doesn't have this job for his poker face, Martin figures, at least not compared with his talent for spouting bullshit. He heard the Major talking to that kid, saying how this was a good place for talented young boys, not to worry about his parents because they'd be taken care of. Martin almost hopes the kid believed it. No place for kids, here, and Martin can’t do nothing to help.

"Do you ever wonder where he is?"

Martin keeps his mouth shut. He knows a trap when it leaps up to snap at his face.

The boys both know something's wrong, not that Martin can do anything about that, not rising to Cross' posing or listening to Gripps talking about Black Death statistics. He says on his own, "He's alone out there," and neither of them argue. They all know what it's like to find out just how lonely you've always been.

When he tries, he can see Oz still poised on the fire escape. Black Book found them the once, but Martin's the one they wanted, ‘else Oz would be here. They wouldn't throw him in with his boys and keep Oz back. 

Except his baby brother never felt the same to him: where the boys are electric, all he can remember is an absence. Maybe it's just that now he has the boys, everything's expanding for him as they fill in the gaps.

It's not Black Book anymore, it's Blackwing, surging with folks like them but not, full of tasty emotions when those in charge get sick of feeding them the usual type of prisoner. Experiments are dull, just pain and tests.

"They've increased by 300%," Gripps announces.

"That seems a little enthusiastic," Martin says, lying back as best he can in a straitjacket. He don’t doubt Gripps – he can sense them all through the walls, but nowhere near as clear, and best he can make out on their own is that kid they drag in more often than the rest, the one the former Major's made his pet. "How many is that?"

"Forty," Gripps tell him, "including us."

Martin tuts, but leaves it be.

Then there's the day they all snap to attention. There's something new, and it's that feeling of being in the cell alone, of being in the maze: of part of yourself coming home. 

As much as he doesn't want to, Martin's first thought is _Oz_.

The new part of them – not new, they've always been one, just didn't realise how far apart they were – won't come closer though. They get to the door, close enough that the three inside are howling, then carry on by. Cross breaks an arm throwing himself against the door before Martin can pull himself together enough to stop him; Gripps is sounding off every foot further away from them. Martin paces, back and forth, to the door then to the closest wall and back again. That night, they can't sleep, but they gather against the wall nearest to their fourth and try to hear.

Riggins talks to the three of them together, like he thinks he can herd them the way he wants. He wards Martin off only for Cross to surge forwards, and whatever else Martin might think of him, he does a mighty fine job moving where he needs to be. Usually they enjoy toying with him, the pack in words rather than the fights Blackwing usually forces on them. Now, though, they're biting and mad and Martin thinks it's a right shame they can't foam at the mouth just to get their point across.

Riggins ushers them through someplace new, and there's the sense, enough to override the question of just what's going on here. Something tingles the edges of Martin's thoughts, enough to make him hang back just a little, and then the door shuts in his face and he's alone.

"Martin," Riggins says carefully, holding out a hand as Martin snarls and roars and contemplates biting that hand off just to prove a point, "now, Martin, let's not do anything drastic – "

"Seems a little late for that," Martin growls. "Seems like you want trouble."

"Nothing like that. I just want to talk to you."

"You were talking to me before." Martin's circling him slowly, and he can see those human eyes tracking him.

"It's not just me who wants to talk to you, Martin," Riggins says, as if Martin isn't two seconds away from ripping out that chatty little throat. "Aren't you curious about that?"

"Give me my boys."

"We will, in a bit."

"You do it _now _, or I tear you into pieces like we've been aching to do for _years_."__

__"Well now, aren't we just the overdramatic prom queen?"_ _

__Martin goes still. The anger vanishes, leaving him all empty and cold._ _

__Riggins looks a little disappointed, but he backs out of the room, door sliding open and shut easy as anything. Martin lets him go. He knows that voice._ _

__"Ain't you got any time for your real family anymore, Marty?"_ _

__Slowly he turns. There are no fists at his sides, and instead his fingers are curved into claws._ _

__The man standing there is at least ten, fifteen years older than when Martin last saw him (time moves funny here, and he doesn't much care for it these days anyhow), but Martin knows him. Martin doesn't forget those he's supposed to protect._ _

__Ozzie smiles at him, and it's not right, but it's Ozzie's. Looking at it, it's gone even more _not right_ now the teenaged awkwardness is long gone. Worse, when Martin's nostrils flare the way that's second-nature for him now, he can finally tell what it is about Oz that's always thrown him off._ _

__All of them can sense everyone around them – the smells, sure, but even more the emotions. Even when he was a boy, Martin knew that fear made him hungry and joy made his head spin; nowadays that's more focused, enough for him to think through it. He always figured Oz was just that familiar to him, or else he didn't remember those details. Turns out he's been lying to himself all this time._ _

__His baby brother doesn't have anything to sense._ _

__"Long time, no see, Marty."_ _

__Martin blinks, then shakes himself like a dog. Facts is facts, and so's family. "They get you too, Ozzie?"_ _

__Oz shrugs one shoulder. "I suppose you could say that if it makes you feel better."_ _

__"And the truth?"_ _

__Sighing, Oz says, "You shouldn't get all hung up on truth, Marty. She's a mighty cruel mistress, I can tell you. So can most everyone here."_ _

__"Why are you here?" Martin snarls, lunging forward just a little. Ozzie doesn't even flinch._ _

__"Oh, you know, just a little _tete-a-tete_ , as the sophisticated folks say," Oz tells him, stretching the _e_ s like _teeth_. "Not that you'd know that, would you, Marty? Nobody's gonna fool you for the _so_ phisticated type. Didn't before, even less so now you're down with the other animals."_ _

__Martin shows his teeth. He's starting to circle again, and Oz just isn't moving. Without the face to distract him, there's nothing but the void there. Nothing to sense._ _

__"Where are my boys?"_ _

__"Oh yes, _your_ boys," Oz drawls, waiting for him to come back to the centre. "It's been mighty interesting watching the three of you, _mighty_ interesting. You must have me round for tea some time."_ _

__Martin pounces forwards, first an inch between them, then their foreheads pressed together. "The fuck have you done, Ozzie?"_ _

__"The fuck have _you_ done, Marty." Those dead eyes stare right back at him, and for all the calm posturing, Martin can feel him pushing back. It makes that violence in him rise higher, so that he's half-distracted trying to push it back down again. "Crawling in the filth with the dogs. Are they your _family_ , now?"_ _

__With a growl, Martin pulls back just a little, still close as blood. "They're my boys; you're my brother. Same thing."_ _

__"No it ain't." Oz never raised his voice before but now it drops even lower. "They're the freaks you got thrown in with and you decided that was more important than getting back to me."_ _

__Bile rises in Martin's throat. "I told you to run, Ozzie."_ _

__The words are out before the penny drops, and it's like the whole world tips on its side._ _

__Ozzie sees it. "Go on, then."_ _

__Martin growls down low. "You've been here the whole time."_ _

__Shrugging, Oz says, "Not quite the whole time. I get out and about; haul in all sorts of new friends."_ _

__Through the rushing, Martin hears Gripps talking about the numbers. Forty. Plus the other part of them. "Still figuring how the world works, Ozzie?"_ _

__"Oh, you'd be amazed the way the universe all fits together."_ _

__Martin's had enough. "You been here so long, how come I ain’t heard from you?"_ _

__"Well, like I said," Oz says slowly, "I _was_ waiting for you to come to your senses. We see it all the time here, the way these _gifts_ warp the way you think. 'S'all interesting, but here's the thing," hand on his neck, Martin thinks he's trying to push him to his knees, "I'm guessing you felt the new kid they dragged in?" _Kid._ "Well, see, they're all up for throwing him in with you but I figured, why not give you a chance? ‘Cause soon as he's in, you'll be long gone._ _

__"How much does family really mean to you, bro?"_ _

__Martin looks at him. Ozzie looks back, just the flash of tongue over lip._ _

__Their family's monsters. Martin can see it in both of them; see how Ozzie's grown into something worse’n if Martin had been there. He doesn't know how Ozzie got here, or how much of his baby brother's still looking out through those shark eyes._ _

__Forty subjects. Plus the kid. "How many of those subjects are there, Ozzie?"_ _

__Slight twitch to the eye, before a slow dramatic grin, leaning back to hook his thumbs in his belt loops next to the guns. "Now why’n Earth would you be asking a thing like that?"_ _

__"How many?"_ _

__Sly grin. "Forty-two."_ _

__Ozzie stopped Martin eating him a long time ago. Said it hurt him like everyone else. It killed their parents, but Ozzie could get up the next day and hold it over him, pointing him the way he wanted him._ _

__For the last time, he sees Oz hesitate on that fire escape._ _

__"You wanted to come here?" Where Martin gets shocked and stunned and beaten, but Oz has no scars anywhere he can see and no scent of blood in the air._ _

__Oz shrugs. "Plenty more interesting in here than out there." Looking at him, Martin narrows his eyes, and then spits to the side. "Never were a talker, were you, bro?"_ _

__"You give him to us," Martin says. "You give him back."_ _

__"You've never met him."_ _

__"He's us. You give him back."_ _

__Oz tilts his head to the side; slowly smiles. "Nothing but animal after all, ain’t you?"_ _

__"You'd know," Martin says, and starts eating._ _

__The kid's terrified and babbling, but settles just a little with Gripps' hands in his hair and Cross crouched down to talk in his face. There's so much energy in him, he's vibrating with it. They fed him up good, maybe, or that's just the age._ _

__He talks about a guy named Priest, who knew everything about him; who made him hurt. Gripps looks at Martin, and he shakes his head. "Don't you go listening to him, Vogel," he says, the name settling easily alongside the rest. The Rowdy Three, always. "That man's nothing but lies."_ _

__"And crazy," Cross says, "crazy like cats in the moon."_ _

__Maybe so. Martin doesn't know what Ozzie is, not exactly. His opposite, maybe, or something else altogether. Wouldn't do to go thinking of them as family, after all._ _

__When they break the walls down after the little lady, Martin gets to see so many of them together, all the monsters of Blackwing running alongside his family. He doesn't know where the other one is, because he sure as hell ain't dead, but the main thing is getting away._ _

__Monsters are real. It's the other things you should run from._ _


End file.
